"It began on a night like any other but ended in a way no one could ever forget."
Nestled between hills, surrounded by dense pine and oak trees, there lay a quiet and beautiful village —
Silverbrook.
This village sat beside a clear and peacefully flowing river, where the land was always moist and fertile.
Cobblestone paths made of stone and small to medium wooden cabins reflected the simplicity and warmth of this place.
"As soon as the morning arrived, the dewdrops on the cabin roofs sparkled like tiny pearls in the sunlight. There was a gentle chill in the air that filled every corner of the village with calm."
During the day, the swaying fields of wheat and corn rustled softly in the warm breeze.
Barefoot children ran through the streets, and the villagers, engaged in their daily tasks — every scene felt like a living painting.
While the village buzzed with life during the day, by night, it turned equally silent and mysterious.
The night sky sparkled with stars, and the river shimmered like silver under the moonlight.
At times, fireflies danced through the valleys,
and it felt as though nature itself was whispering an old story or humming a forgotten song.
But today...
Something was different from all other days.
There was a new excitement, a new energy in the air of the village.
All of Silverbrook was immersed in preparations for the Harvest Festival.
In the morning, the first rays of the sun passed through the pine and oak trees and slipped through the window of a small wooden cottage. In that light, Tommy Hale, the most playful and beloved child of the village, rubbed his eyes and woke up. Without wasting a moment, he got ready and dashed outside.
As he ran, a voice came from the kitchen. Eliza Hale, his mother:
"Son! At least have your breakfast!"
Tommy shouted with a smile,
"Mom, later! I have to help with the festival!"
He ran through the fields. His dad, Timothy Hale, was plowing the land. He saw Tommy and smiled, continuing his work.
Tommy reached the center of the village, where the decorations were in full swing.
Strings of kites and colorful lanterns were being hung along the roads.
Circular tables were being set up in the village square, where the harvest food would soon be served.
A little ahead, Mayor Edgar Whitmore, a dignified 58-year-old man leaning on his cane, was engaged in a deep conversation with Silas Crowe (the village hunter).
Tommy darted past them.
Not far from them, Mr. & Mrs. Levingston, the sweet elderly bakery couple in their 70s, were standing with their goat.
As always, Mr. Levingston kindly offered,
"Tommy, my boy! Want some fresh bread?"
Tommy replied with a grin,
"Not now, Mr. Levingston, maybe later!"
And he dashed off again.
In front of Graveside Church, Brother Caleb, a former priest, was setting up candles.
Without saying anything, Tommy ran toward the church's small garden, where his friends — Grace Myles and a few other children — were waiting for him.
Grace grabbed his hand and said,
"You're late! We still have to practice for the dance!"
Nearby, sitting quietly on a bench, was Amelia Whitmore, the mayor's granddaughter. As always, she had a sketchbook in her hands, quietly drawing the scenery and the expressions of the people around her — her eyes filled with a special curiosity.
And then...
The bell of the old Clock Tower rang.
The festival had begun.
All of Silverbrook was now lost in celebration.
There was music everywhere, people were dancing, and lanterns were being released into the sky.
The whole village shimmered in the glow of burning spices and festive lights.
Night began to fall, and under the twinkling lights, everything looked magical.
In the midst of it all, the village's youngest couple — Noah Rivers and Lila Bennett — quietly slipped away from the crowd to meet by the riverside.
Their faces, glowing under the moonlight, looked radiant — but there was something uneasy about their expressions…
as if they carried the weight of a secret.
On the other side,
the village children sat in a circle under an old peepal tree.
There was a rustling in the air, and the light from the lanterns danced across their faces as it filtered through the leaves.
Seated in the center was Ezekiel Grave — the oldest man in Silverbrook.
His face was full of wrinkles, but his eyes held a glow...
as if they contained the wisdom of an entire forgotten world.
He slowly looked up at the sky —
where a red and ominous moon was glowing.
Then he began to speak —
his voice carried not the charm of a story, but the weight of a truth:
> "Children... do you know?
There used to be two moons in the sky.
> One — calm, white as milk.
And the other — red, burning like fire.
> But one night... something happened that the world never truly understood.
> The red moon... broke apart.
And it fell straight from the sky to the earth.
Since that day...
that moon never returned."
The children held their breath.
A fire from the past lit up in Ezekiel's eyes.
> "But it wasn't just the moon that fell that night…"
> Something else came with it —
Something ancient... unknown... extraordinary.
> They looked just like us...
But their eyes glowed in the dark,
their teeth were white and sharp as ice...
and their beauty was so terrifying,
that even the moon paled in comparison.
> But remember —
not every beautiful face is innocent.
Some faces… are carved from the eyes of death."
Now there was silence all around.
Only the soft rustling of leaves could be heard.
Ezekiel leaned toward the children and said:
> "Each one of them... was different.
Some had the speed of the wind,
Some could read minds.
> Some could vanish into the shadows…
and some could enchant with just a look.
> But there was one thing they all had in common…"
> "A thirst for blood."
TO BE CONNECTED.....